Miroban
by Stryke Manson
Summary: A disgraced warrior must travel to a distant and ancient continent in order to find a new heir to the Septim throne.
1. Journey

Disclaimer: I stole a bunch of stuff from Wizards of the Coast and Bethesda. I'm not making any money off of this.

Chapter One: Journey

Marcus stood at the window of his small cell, a wooden cup half full of water held in his hand. He rubbed his hand over his grizzled beard yet again. No matter how many years he had a beard, he just couldn't get used to it. He noticed not long ago that his beard was turning gray. Not with age, perhaps, but with the lack of freedom he had. He took a sip of his water, just a small one, knowing that he would only get a few more cups in the day.

He heard voices approaching, but didn't bother moving. They weren't coming for him. He didn't get visitors.

It came as a surprise when he heard the jangle of the jailer's keys stop outside of his cell. A second later, he heard the key click in the lock and the rusty door open. His fists clenched, and his still muscular arms tensed, expecting the worst. He turned to see an aged man wearing brown robes walk into the cell and dismiss the guards. He noted that they didn't lock the door behind them.

The old man stared at him for a second before sitting at one side of the small desk/table and motioning for Marcus to sit at the other. Marcus did so, silent. There was another moment of silence before the man reached into his robe and withdrew a small black book.

"Here," he said, tossing it lightly at Marcus. Marcus caught the book and looked at the cover. On the front of it was what appeared to be a serpent with small legs.

"What is this?" Marcus asked, his voice slightly hoarse with misuse. He had not spoken in some time, and his voice showed it.

"A book," was his answer. "Obviously. You do remember how to read, don't you?"

"I don't know. You've left me in here for quite some time."

The man nodded, thoughtful. "Indeed. Tell me, what do you know of current events?"

"I know that a little over a month ago, gates to Oblivion started opening up, spewing out Daedra. The guards came through, released a lot of the people in here, said it was too dangerous for them to just be left imprisoned. They only left the people who were scheduled to be executed. And me." He cleared his throat. "They said that the gates started opening after the Emperor died, and that there was talk of a lost heir who might be able to close them. That's all I know."

"The lost heir was found, and did solve the…immediate threat. However, the situation has grown…complicated. Again."

Marcus merely raised an eyebrow.

"There was a Daedra Lord who sought to…overrun this plane. In the end, the heir, Martin Septim, defeated him, through the use of the Amulet of Kings and the dragonfire. However, whilst the Oblivion Gates did indeed close here in Tamriel, they did not in other areas. For example, Vvardenfell is still subject to them, as is Solstheim. We have reason to believe that they are opening in other areas as well. Especially since they have begun opening here, again. Not nearly as much as they once were, but…there you are."

"What does that have to do with me, Jauffre?" Marcus asked.

"We need you to carry out a task. There was another who I would have like to ask, one who was of great assistance in finding Martin in the first place, but unfortunately, he is indisposed."

"What do you mean?"

"He is a great hero. He was named the first Paladin of the Throne. The first of many, I would hope. He has seen fit to go on a journey to find the missing Nerevarine and Hortator of Vvardenfell, and seek his assistance in dealing with these tribulations."

"What do you want of me, then?" Marcus asked, getting up. He walked back to the window and looked out. "It seems like you've pretty much got everything all wrapped up. You've got your little 'Paladin' to clean up, and some other guy from Morrowind. You have a host of Blades, the most elite warriors in the Empire, ready to die for you, their Guildmaster. Why are you here?"

Jauffre sighed. "I no longer have a host of Blades. There are only eight in this province. Counting myself. And, as much as I'd rather not say, you are the best of them."

Marcus slammed his fist into the stone wall. "I'm not a Blade. Don't ever insult me with that name again. You and your Blades left me to rot in here."

"It was not my decision," Jauffre reminded him. "And there were many who wanted you executed. Your service in the Blades was the only thing that allowed you to keep your life."

He snorted. "Some life. Spit it out. What do you want?"

"There are documents that suggest the possible existence of another Septim, in a far off land. Apparently, almost two hundred years ago two brothers were born to the Septim line. One of them happened to move to another land, far away. We hope that his line still lives today. If so…we have found a new Emperor."

He turned to face his one-time leader. "Go on."

"I need you to go there and search for this heir. It will be dangerous…not only is the land not under the jurisdiction of the Empire, but scout ships have reported a large amount of Oblivion Gates. That book," he nodded at the black book laying on the table, "details some facts about the land of Miroban. This," he now took some sheets of folded paper from within his robes, "will explain some things about the Daedra, and how to close Oblivion Gates. Information the Paladin thought you should have."

Marcus sighed. "What happens if I do this?"

"You will be released, of course. You will be rewarded handsomely, and your record will be stripped. There is armor, a blade, and some gold at the front, if you will accept the quest. If not…your cell will be locked."

"Lovely choice. Another four years in here."

"And then some."

"I'll do it, since you gave me _so_ many options."

"Excellent. You'll find detailed instructions inside the letter from the Paladin. I must be going."

"How do you know I won't just run off?"

"That's a risk I have to take," Jauffre said, staring into his eyes. "I can't afford the manpower to watch you. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here in the first place." He stood up, and walked towards the door.

"One more thing," Marcus called out. Jauffre paused, though he did not turn. "You never told me whether you thought I did it or not. Did you?"

There was a pause. "I did," Jauffre said. "And I still do. Why you did, I don't know. And you don't seem interested in telling." With that, he left.

Marcus stared behind him. It was a long moment before he stood up to leave.

A/N: Yeah, I know, short chapter. It's a little more then half what I usually let a chapter be, but it got the point across and helped give me some loose reins for starting chapter two. Reviews make me happy ;)


	2. Zeke

Disclaimer: I stole a bunch of stuff from Wizards of the Coast and Bethesda. I'm not making any money off of this.

Chapter Two: Zeke

Marcus sat at the table in the small bar and opened the book again. It seemed Miroban was indeed a different sort of place. There were races that lived in Miroban that Marcus had never even heard of; three of them, in fact.

The first, the Kitsune, seemed similar to the Khajit, but instead of being kin with cats, these people were related to foxes. They seemed to be highly highly intelligent, and adept as both mages and swordsmen.

The second, the Nezumi, were not so highly thought of. The book detailed that while most prejudices were completely unearned, the fact that the Nezumi were related to rats hurt their standing in civilization. Nezumi, it seemed, occupied a low spot on the ladder of Miroban society, and often lived in tribes in the wilderness, if only to protect themselves from prejudice.

The last race, Orochi, was also minimally trusted, but it seemed that there was a cause. The book explained that the Orochi, the 'Snake People,' as they called themselves, were related to Argonians. They had venomous fangs, and were considered to be excellent archers and fighters. However, they were also, apparently, savages, who usually attacked any who, either accidentally or on purpose, wandered into their territory. Orochi were rarely welcomed anywhere outside of their natural habitats, and no one else was welcome in.

Marcus took a long drink of his Sujamma. He had almost forgotten how good a nice tankard of alcohol could taste, it had been so long. He swore to himself that, if it were ever to arise again, he would die fighting before being thrown into prison again.

When he had left, the guards all stared at him, wondering if he would try to get revenge on them. They all knew he was highly trained, and as he put on the iron cuirass and greaves he was left, and strapped the katana to his belt, not a single one of them took their eyes off of him. He was generally treated worse than the other prisoners, for the simple nature of the crime of which he was accused.

When he finally reached the town of Cheydinhal, he considered buying a new weapon. He was accustomed to katanas, true, but in Tamriel, the weapons were used almost exclusively by the Blades. He decided to keep it, and spend money instead on beer, a night soft bed, and perhaps the company of a woman.

As he read on, he discovered with some surprise that katanas were actually quite commonplace in Miroban—in fact, it was wondered if they were designed there. That was no doubt why Jauffre had left him one; so he would not be more out-of-place than he already was.

He still had no idea how he was to get there, though. Travel would take almost a month in a boat, and he didn't have nearly enough money to buy one. Not to mention, he would need a ship big enough to accommodate supplies for such a trip, but there were no trade routes to Miroban, so no ships would be heading there.

He put a few septims on the table for the drink, and stood, putting the book in the pouch on his belt that also held the letter from Jonathan, Paladin of the Throne. He wandered outside, and inwardly tensed as two guards sauntered past. One of the men nodded his head at the former Blade. "Good day, citizen," he said, in a deep Imperial voice. Marcus nodded back.

_Calm down_, he told himself. _You're an Imperial man, in an Imperial marketplace. You've done no wrong. No one here suspects you of anything._

As soon as he heard that, he heard a woman shouting in his direction. "Catch him! He's a thief! Stop right there, you scallywag!"

He turned, thinking the woman was talking to him, and was nearly bowled over by a lithe Bosmer running past. "Sorry!" he yelled, before turning into an alleyway. The two guards Marcus had seen a moment before thundered past a second later, and stopped in the alley.

"Crap," one of them said.

"I'm not goin' in there," the other replied.

Marcus turned the corner to see that the alley was a dead end, but in the center of it was an open manhole. The thief must have gone into the sewers.

"Whaddaya say we flip a septim for it?" the first asked.

"You can flip all you want. I still ain't goin' in there."

The first one sighed. "All right, come on." They walked past Marcus back into the marketplace.

He walked over and looked into the manhole. He almost gagged from the stench emanating from below. He grabbed the cover and pulled it back over the hole, cutting off the aroma. Suddenly he heard a soft _thump_. He turned to see the Bosmer getting up from a crouch.

"So you were on the roof?" Marcus asked.

"I wasn't going to go in there either," the thief replied. "Name's Zeke."

"What makes you think I want to know the name of a thief?"

"What makes you think I'm a thief?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "The fact that you were running from a woman who was calling you one, and two guards were chasing you."

He scratched his head. "I suppose that is damning evidence. Still. Could've been a setup."

"I'm fairly certain it wasn't."

"It wasn't. So, you aren't going to tell me your name?"

He had to admit, the little mer had charm. "Marcus."

"Marcus, you don't look like you've been here too long. Why don't I show you the sights?"

"Are you going to pick my pocket?"

"Maybe."

Marcus shook his head and sighed. "Why not? I don't have any other plans for the day. But if you try to pick my pocket, I'll cut your hand off."

Zeke laughed. "Great! I'll show you the hottest underground card game in the city. Follow me, and you won't go wrong!"

Those words turned to be untrue; hours later, after Marcus had lost almost half of the money he had, he told Zeke he was out.

"Oh, come on," Zeke said. "We can win it back. It's blackjack, man. Odds are with us."

Marcus shook his head. "He's stacking the deck."

The big Orc who was sitting next to Zeke stood and picked up a large wooden club that was laying on the ground next to him. "_What!?_" he roared, rage contorting his features.

Marcus pointed a thumb at the dealer, who was now flanked by a Redguard and an Argonian who had appeared from a back room. "He was stacking the deck, making sure that he'd get the winning hand. I thought he was for a while, but I didn't know for sure until last hand." The Argonian hissed, and the Altmer dealer grabbed at the septims on the table before running in the back room. The Orc made to follow him, but his progress was blocked by the Argonian, who threw a punch at him.

A Nord charged out of the back room towards Marcus, brandishing a twin-bladed battle axe. He plowed through the blackjack table, swinging the axe wildly. Marcus calmly sidestepped, drawing his own blade. He parried another blow, and then another, catching the chaotically swinging axe by it's blade and flinging it out of the Nord's hands.

Meanwhile, the Orc gambler was taking on both the Argonian and Redguard at the same time. He easily withstood their feeble punches, while dealing crushing blows to them both. The battle was over in seconds, as was Marcus'. Soon, both of the Orc's opponents were on the ground, and the Nord was against the wall, the katana against his throat.

"Leave," Marcus said. "Now."

The Nord needed no further encouragement. In less than a second, he was at the door, barely stopping to open it before rushing into the street.

The Orc looked at him and snorted. "Mercy."

"It happens. Do you know where my companion went?"

The Orc looked around. "No," he uttered finally. "Do you know where my money went?"

"No," Marcus sighed. He wondered if Zeke was in on the crooked game, and that was why he had left as soon as the fighting broke out. Marcus grit his teeth, nodded his head at the Orc, and left through the same door the Nord had just used. He drew his cape around him and began striding through the Imperial City night when he heard footsteps running behind him. He turned to see Zeke stop behind him.

"Hello, mate!" the cheery Bosmer said.

"Where did you go?"

He lifted the leather bag he was carrying. "Had to get our money back, mate," he said. "Plus some interest."

"How did you get that from the Altmer?"

He grinned. "Daggers in the back are great persuasive tools."

"Did you kill him?"

"Define 'kill'."

"Is he still breathing?"

"I'm not sure."

"So he's dead."

"Possibly."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Come on, Zeke," he said, and they strode off together.

Marcus searched for the Orc that evening, in an attempt to give him back the money he was cheated out of, but it was to no avail. "All for the better," Zeke had said. "More for us."

Eventually, they headed to a small inn and purchased meals. "So what's your story?" Zeke asked around a mouthful of venison.

"Not something I want to go in to." Marcus said.

"Gotcha," the mer said, nodding wisely. "Where you heading?"

"A place called Miroban."

Zeke tilted his head to the side, thinking. "Never heard of it," he finally said. "What province is it in?"

"It's not a city. It's a country. Or maybe a continent. I'm not really sure."

Zeke raised an eyebrow. "You're...not really sure?"

Marcus pulled the book from his pouch. "All I know is that I'm supposed to go here," he said, opening the book and pointing at a map. "And look for someone."

"Someone close to you, eh? Lost sister, or the like?"

"No."

"Can I at least have a hint?"

"No."

Zeke pursed his lips. "You can be really frustrating, you know that?"

Marcus smiled. "So I've been told."

"Well, old buddy, tell you what. I'll ask around, see what I can do. Maybe I can find a ship. A trip sounds nice."

Marcus' eyebrows furrowed. "What makes you think you're coming?"

"Marcus, I've been to prison once or twice, and I can tell when someone else has been there, too. And you've been there for a while, by my reckoning. I doubt you've been out for a week. And instead of running home to family and friends, you stay at an inn in Cheydinhal, which tells me that you don't have a friend in the world. Likewise, I'm sure you don't have a whole lot of money or favors you can use to secure passage to a place _this far_ from the trading routes. I'm not trying to be rude, but it looks like I'm your only friend in the world."

Marcus snorted, then smiled. "Perceptive little guy, aren't you?"

Zeke shrugged. "Only sometimes."

"All right, you can come. _If_ you can find us passage. If not, then I go alone."

Zeke rolled his eyes. "Meet me here at noon tomorrow," he said, and left.

Marcus shook his head and continued his meal. He honestly had no idea if the little mer could pull through or not, but if he did, that would just make Marcus' life that much easier. He finished his tankard of ale and paid for a room. He fell asleep almost instantly.

A/N: Reviews make me happy ;) If there's anything you want to see in the story, go ahead and send me an email at . Put in the Subject line, so I don't think it's spam and delete it on accident.

Peace! and I'm out.


	3. Ogre

Disclaimer: I stole a bunch of stuff from Wizards of the Coast and Bethesda. I'm not making any money off of this.

Chapter Three: Ogre

Marcus grudgingly paid out the money for his new armor. Getting a suit of steel armor was necessary, but he now had precious little money. He would have to figure out some way to get funds. There might be some ruins around that he could plunder, or something of the like. There was always a way for a warrior who wasn't afraid of a little danger to make a spare septim.

He stepped into a small room beside the stairs and put on his new armor. It was well made, that was true enough, and much stronger than his suit of iron armor, which the shopkeeper now owned.

Marcus bid the shopkeeper farewell and left, wandering aimlessly around town. He looked at the sky and noted that the sun was high. It was about time to return to the inn and wait for Zeke.

He arrived and took a seat. He looked at his meager supply of coins, and finally gave in, buying a mug of Nordic Mead. He took a swig of it, and opened up the book again. It turned out that the people of Miroban openly worshiped both the Daedra _and_ Aedra, something practically unheard of in Cyrodiil, where, if you worshiped a Daedra, you kept it secret.

He was interrupted by the inn door opening. He looked at the door to notice Zeke saunter in. He sat down across from Marcus. "I got us a ship," he said, in a low voice. "But there's a catch."

"Which is?"

"Keep your voice down!" Zeke hissed, leaning in. "The thing is, this ship is used to transport raw moon sugar, to be refined in Vvardenfell before it's shipped back. After some negotiating, the owners of the fine vessel have decided that trying their luck in a brave new land could prove very profitable." He looked around the inn and leaned closer. "They're willing to take us aboard free of charge, as long as we work as a shiphand. We need to be at where they make port in four days. It's south of Leyawiin, so we need to move fast. Do you have the money for a few horses?"

Marcus looked longingly in his coin purse. "No," he said. "I'm pretty much broke right now."

The mer sighed. "It figures. All right, listen. There's a small inn South of here, called The Dragon's Paw. Meet me there at sunset, okay? It's only a few hour's walk, so you've got plenty of time. I'll see you then." Zeke got up, and began walking towards the door.

"Hey!" Marcus said. "Where are you going?"

Zeke winked. "To get us some horses." And with that, he left.

"God's have mercy," Marcus muttered. "What have I gotten myself in to?"

He contented himself during the walk to The Dragon's Paw Inn with casting magic, something he still wasn't used to again. The prison had a strong aura of anti-magic, so Marcus was still getting used to the feeling of mana rushing through his hands as he casted a fireball, or his entire body as he practiced a small spell of healing.

He looked at a small scar that twisted on his forearm and chuckled. He had gotten that years ago, when he was trying to learn healing spells and couldn't seem to get the knack of it. Finally, in anger, he cut deep into his own arm, trying to heal it back. He had almost passed out before finally doing it, but he had, and he showed his scar proudly to those who cared to see it. His superiors in the Blades had shaken their heads and laughed, saying that it was his stubbornness that made him so useful in the first place, and as long as he didn't kill himself, he would only grow more useful. Still, he never could pull off a spell from the school of Restoration as well as one from the school of Destruction. Healing spells seemed to drain him more, to take more out of him, and the result was never as impressive.

He could see a building in the distance, and he picked up his pace a bit. He was at the gate when he heard the roar.

He spun around to see a giant. The creature must have been ten feet tall, with a filthy loincloth, pale skin the color of a fish's stomach, and large, knotted muscles covering it's body.

_Oh, _thought Marcus. _An ogre. I was wondering what that smell was._

A calm had come over him. Few warriors could stand against the strength and simplistic rage of an ogre, not without a ranged weapon and a large amount of space between them and the beast. But Marcus was more than the average warrior. He was one of the Emperor's Elite's, in another life. He had trained, retrained, and trained again, until battle was ingrained in every fiber of his being.

He was at peace, now, in the certainty of battle. In mere seconds, his entire mentality had changed into one forged in strife. As the ogre rushed at him, bringing it's giant hands together over it's head, Marcus smiled.

In a flash, his katana appeared in his hand, and as the creature brought down it's arms to strike a leveling blow to the former Blades' head, Marcus stepped to the side. The hands whistled past him, as Marcus thrust his blade towards the beast's neck.

He felt a healthy strike, his weapon slashing through flesh and muscle, but the beast gave no recognition to the wound, already throwing a punch from a massive hand at Marcus' face.

A leap back put Marcus well out of the range of the ogre's attack. In the next few moments, there was a dizzying spectacle of man and monster in what appeared to be a graceful dance, one of them unable to hit the other, the other not flinching when it was hit. Then the ogre launched another punch at Marcus. Marcus dodged back again, but this time there was no ground to support him. In a flash, he remembered where he was.

_Oh...at the end of the field there was that incline...a five foot drop or so. Damn, we're already that close? How much have we been-_

He landed on his side, and rolled to the side to dodge another attack from the beast.

_This is bad. I really need to get up._

He heard the ogre roaring in pain, and noticed a small hilt sticking out of one of the monster's eyes. A second later, accompanied by another, louder roar, another seemed to blossom out of the ogre's other eye. Then one in it's neck. Then two, almost simultaneously, in it's chest. The beast gave a shuddering moan, and finally fell, almost landing atop Marcus.

Footsteps hurriedly approached. "You okay, mate?" a familiar voice asked. "I would have stepped in sooner, but I couldn't get a clear shot while the two of you were playing. He didn't get you, did he?"

"No," Marcus said, taking the offered hand. "You're not a bad shot with those things."

"I try," Zeke said. "Where'd you learn to move like that? "

"Around. Part of my training."

"You sure you don't have any Bosmer blood in ya?"

"Positive."

"You say that like having Bosmer blood is a bad thing."

"Did I?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there you are."

Zeke shook his head. "You aren't a very nice person, you know that?"

"I try not to be. What are you doing here so early? Sunset's still a few hours off."

"I finished my business in town early, and rode down here."

"Rode? So you got us horses?"

"That I did."

"Did you steal them?"

Zeke opened his eyes wide, in mock innocence. "Me? Perish the thought! I borrowed them, without a promise to return them and without the owner's knowledge. I would _never_ steal."

"Of course," Marcus said, shaking his head. They began walking to the inn. "So where'd you learn to throw like that?"

"Around. Maybe I have some Imperial blood in me."

"Dear Gods, I hope not."

"You're being not nice again."

"I know."

Marcus smiled. "So how good is the ship that we'll be on?"

"Oh, it's a great ship. It looks great. It feels great. You'll hardly even know you're on water."

Marcus nodded. "You've never seen the thing in your life, have you?"

"Not a once."

"Never even been on a ship, have you?"

"I once borrowed my cousin's rowboat to go fishing in. Couldn't figure out how to make the damned oars work right, though. had to swim back to shore."

"Big lake?"

"Little pond."

They entered the inn, and Zeke led the way to a small room with two beds in it. He threw his cloak on one of the beds, revealing a black leather vest with multiple throwing knives attached, and a small dagger and short sword at his hip. "How about you? You know anything about ships?"

"A thing or two," Marcus replied, taking out his katana and wiping it down with a soft rag. He sniffed the metal.

Ogre blood stank. A lot. Even after it had been wiped off.

"Let me guess: part of your training?"

"Yeah, something like that. I once served on a ship traveling prisoners to Vvardenfell."

"No joke? What, did you used to be a guard?"

"Something like that."

Zeke sighed. "Listen, I'm not trying to be a jerk. I'm not even trying particularly hard to be nosy. But all I know about you is that you just got out of prison, you've been in there for a while, and you're looking for some lady in the middle of a place no one's been to for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. I've gotten us horses. I've found us a ship. I even got us a bit of extra gold from the card game gone wrong, which I'm sure helped fund your shiny new armor. I've been a fairly decent guy, I think, and thrown more than a little friendship your way. Would it kill you to at least let me know _something_?"

"I didn't ask for your help, if you recall," Marcus said.

"All right, how about this. If I can guess something I should have no business knowing, will you at least fill in some blind spots?"

"Why should I?"

"Why shouldn't you? Come on, it's not like I'm going to go blab your secrets to the world, Mister Ex-Blade."

A/N: Why is it so hard for me to put updates up in a timely manner? Well, here is Chapter 3. I honestly wanted to make it a bit longer, but I wanted to save what happens next for the next chapter, so I decided to cut it off a bit short. _Shrug_. It happens.

So we learn a few things about Zeke, those being that he's fairly skilled with a throwing blade, and that he's really perceptive...or...something. Next chapter will probably show how he figured out that Marcus used to be a Blade (if you didn't notice, Marcus had never let it slip). Next chapter will also show a bit of Marcus' past...though I'm still not quite sure how much. Might have to save some secrets for later, after all ;).

Until next time, reviews make me happy (as always) and you can feel free to contact me at strykemanson yahoo . com (minus the spaces, of course). Peace outside.


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